


The Red Spirit

by fiammazzurra



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Azula Needs Therapy Too, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Katara's righteous fury, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Platonic Relationships, Sibling Bonding, Unreliable Narrator, Zuko (Avatar) Needs Therapy, also just on-screen child abuse, canon divergence after S3 Day of the Black Sun, discussions of torture, nobody's dead I promise they're just having a really bad time, prison break shenanigans, ship: the fire nation/war crimes, this fic contains absolutely no shipping except some of the lowkey canon ones, waterbender hell jail is fun for the whole family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25832665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiammazzurra/pseuds/fiammazzurra
Summary: AU in which Aang slipped away from Azula during the Day of Black Sun, and managed to find the Fire Lord before Zuko even got there. He lost the fight. In the aftermath, Azula lands herself in a hell of a lot of trouble. See, Ozai doesn't like being lied to, and he hasn't figured out the exact nature of the lie yet, but clearly SOMEONE lied about Ba Sing Se.Zuko would prefer not to get outed as a traitor AND a liar right now (even if Azula told the lie first), and Azula /needs/ to gain back the favor she lost by failing to keep the Avatar out of the throne room, so they come to an understanding. Zuko would also like the world to NOT be reborn in fire, thanks very much, but he'll drag Azula onboard with that later.And thus is born a nonsense plan worthy of the world's crappiest theaters. Azula can't be blamed for 'failing' to stop the Avatar and company if it turns out that even Ozai can't stop them from making trouble, and if proving Ozai can fail means that they have to pull a few stealthy Gaang jailbreaks? Well. If they go down, at least they'll go down together.TLDR; Zuko takes Azula Blue Spirit-ing, bonding ensues
Relationships: Azula & Katara (Avatar), Azula & Ozai (Avatar), Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 243





	1. Failure

**Author's Note:**

> General content warning: this is a fic primarily written to indulge my love of Great Escape plots and character drama. So, big trigger warning for child abuse (I mean, it's about Zuko and Azula), the canonically heinous Fire Nation prison system, torture of several varieties, mental/emotional trauma, et cetera. I'll add more specific trigger warnings to future chapters, since this one is really just set-up, but Be Warned. This fic's gonna go to some dark places before it gets lighter.

When Azula lured the Avatar’s ridiculous friends into her trap, when she pushed even the wily Water Tribe savage into lashing out in rage, she thought she’d won the day.

She didn’t notice that only two of them lingered to fight her.

She didn’t notice the Avatar leaving until the eclipse passed on, until she’d pointed the rest of those fools towards the saferoom and its guards, and then pinned down the earthbender minutes later trying to escape the way she’d come.

She didn’t notice when she returned to the throne room after all opposition had been crushed, after she’d overseen the capture of every last invader, after she’d watched the Home Guard march them into ships bound for prisons across the Fire Nation.

She noticed when she rose from her kowtow to see the unfiltered rage on her father’s face, and the bandages across his chest beneath his robes.

She didn’t need even half of her intellect to put the pieces together.

_Shit._

\--

Zuko wouldn’t have noticed either, as determined as he was to avoid the hell out of the invasion force. It wasn’t that he was scared, mind you. He was just… _reasonably cautious,_ and reasonable caution included awareness of the fact that most of the invaders would happily eviscerate him given the first opportunity. He hadn’t spent three years in exile, fought with Zhao, risked his life chasing the Avatar, and stood up against his _sister,_ just to die in the stupidest way imaginable at the hands of people he wanted to help.

He crept out of the palace in his traveling cloak and emerged into a silent city, and it was child’s play to slip past the Home Guard into the bunker. He didn’t need to sneak now, but old habits die hard. He was already running late, and there was only so much time. And he would have continued not to notice the kink in his sister’s plans, if it wasn’t for the teensy tiny detail of the _massive earth-shaking battle_ happening in the saferoom.

“Your Highness!” He flinched despite his best efforts, but the guard’s voice was wavering, and her eyes darted constantly between his face and the door and the tunnel, and she wouldn’t be a threat. “Your Highness, you must go back to the palace!”

“What’s going on?” He shouldn’t have had to ask. It was all too obvious. He hoped that the ice creeping up his spine wasn’t.

Zuko had been late to the darkening of the sun, and so had the Avatar. He felt the eclipse end as suddenly as he’d felt it begin, the embers of firebending sparking back to life in his chest. He heard the lightning, and the scream. Zuko’s feet wouldn’t move.

Until they did, and he sprinted like his life depended on it, probably because it did. His hands kept shaking even after he’d burned that letter and hidden the balloon, even after he’d gone to the prison and found the broken bars and the bodies and no Uncle, after he’d tucked himself away in his rooms and done every deep-breathing exercise he knew. He needed a new plan. When his father returned to the palace in a blaze of triumph with the unconscious Avatar in chains, he slipped his hands deep into his sleeves to hide the shaking, and thought about what Azula would do. Azula would smile. Zuko couldn’t.

\--

“I must say, I was surprised to find the Avatar here.”

Azula wasn’t smiling. Her face was empty, her eyes turned down and fixed to the floor. Her posture was impeccable, her hands perfectly still.

“After all, you spun a convincing story,” Father said. “Of your machinations in Ba Sing Se, your seamless conquest. Of your brother’s last-minute turn to the side he always knew he belonged to. Of his loyalty, and of yours. Of the Avatar’s death.”

Azula said nothing. It had been Zuko’s failure, after all. And hadn’t she given him every opportunity to fix this? But like the fool he was, he’d done nothing, and now he’d pay the price. Doubtless, Father already had plans in mind for his punishment. It was a shame—a waste of the perfectly good second chance she’d brought him. She really thought he’d learned.

But Father’s eyes remained on her. She felt his gaze, burning against the top of her bowed head.

Zuko was the one who’d failed. Obviously. Father trusted her. 

She studied the grain of the floorboards. She listened to Father’s breathing, heavy and slow, except for the moments when it hitched. She didn’t know what the Avatar had done to him. It sounded as though it hurt.

“What was the Avatar doing in our bunkers?”

This, she could handle.

“His companion, the earthbender,” Azula said. “She senses things through the ground, and found the tunnels. She let herself in. My Dai Li were responsible for preventing this, and they failed to do so. I will punish them accordingly.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You dealt with the earthbender yourself, in due time,” said Father, “and brought her to me burned and humiliated. That is sufficient. I would prefer to discuss the… Avatar situation.” His words were delicate, light as the ash that fell before incoming fleets.

“…Of course, Father.”

“I have always known your brother to be… weak. And yet, when he returned, you vouched for his power. His decisiveness. I believed you, of course. You, my trusted heir. And yet the Avatar… the Avatar, whom _you_ claimed was struck down, returned and evaded you. It makes one wonder.” 

He stood from his throne. Azula did not move. There was a knot in the wood near her left hand, dark veins twisting from their parallels into jarring irregularity. Imperfect. She narrowed her eyes. She did not move.

“Azula,” Father said. “You wouldn’t _lie_ to me, would you?”

“Never,” she said. She did not flinch. Her posture was impeccable. Father stepped down from his throne to study her, pacing a slow circle as she tracked his footsteps forward, left, around…

“You have always been lucky,” he said. “You are lucky that your failure cost us little, in the end, and lucky that I favor you. Rise.”

Azula rose, and bowed. Father stood in front of her and watched. She watched back, remaining carefully blank of expression. He stepped forward. She did not move. Silhouetted in fire, she could hardly see his face. She did not look at the places where his bandages bled through.

He placed his hands on her shoulders. His grip was firm, fire-hot fingers digging into the muscle through her robes. She took a deep breath.

“You are my loyal daughter,” he said. “You know what is expected of you, and you know the consequences. You will _not_ fail me again.”

\--

The palace was quiet that day. Servants stepped lightly, clustered in their hidden halls around the room where Father rested, bringing him meals and fresh bandages for the physicians and keeping their heads down. As if that would change anything. It was almost cute.

Azula laughed, and flicked a tongue of fire at a tapestry where two of the kitchen maids hid. They yelped. She wore a dragon’s smile, all tooth, with nothing in the eyes.

He blamed this on _her_! Not on Zuko, and after all the work she’d done, _everything_ should have been his—the fault, the consequences, the failure, hadn’t she spent her childhood making sure of that in every way? And yet Father had seen through it in an instant.

Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe she had a shot. She stalked her way to the courtyard, singing the eyebrows off of any servants fool enough to come close. Idiots. Couldn’t they see she wasn’t in the _mood_? The turtleducks in the pond fled at the sight of her. _As they should._

It was funny, how easy things burned here. In Ba Sing Se, the palace was built of unyielding stone, sheltered by walls that only crumbled under the careful application of intrigue. Ba Sing Se was a puzzle to crack, made of pieces for Azula to slowly pry apart until the pearl emerged from the oyster. At home in the heart of Agni’s favored city, they built with wood and bamboo and paper, everything seconds away from crumbling into ash.

Perhaps it made sense. After all, this place had given her her first taste of destruction, always the most satisfying. If the palace was weak, it should pay for its weakness, and be made anew in flame. The way they’d remake the rest of the world.

Perhaps it was appropriate.

Perhaps this was what it deserved.

She laughed, as the tree where Mother used to sit opened blossoms of fire at the twitch of her fingers. She should have burned it years ago. It was a good thing she was here now, to make up for lost time. Poor Zuzu could find a new place to mope, _poor Zuzu._ If he even lived. He probably wouldn’t, of course. Not after this, his latest, greatest failure.

(It _was_ his. His failure, as it had been his victory, as she’d told Father, ever faithful.)

Perhaps he’d finally be out of her way.

And she’d done well, hadn’t she? She’d warned of the invasion, set all her traps, watched as the fools stumbled into them. She’d given the orders that left the invading ships floundering in the bay as the flames overtook them, the orders that cornered the barbarians in city streets and on cliffsides—and she’d taken down one of the Avatar’s teachers _herself_ , where the other had only been subdued by a full squadron of the Home Guard.

This was her _victory_.

Surely, Father realized.

A flicker of motion in the corner of her eyes, and she whirled, flicking perfect blue fire at the intruder with a cackle that rubbed raw in her throat.

“Watch it!” Zuko yelped. He deflected it just in time, and smothered the fire on the tree with an awkward slash of one arm. He moved differently these days, more economical, but his hands always shook. _Cute._

“ _Zuzu_ ,” she purred, rounding on him and stalking forward in that way that she knew he knew meant business. He backed away, but held his gaze.

“What are you—” he started, and then paused, his eyes flicking over the smoking wreckage of the courtyard. There was half a loaf of bread in his hand, held loosely, and dark circles under his eyes. Not that she cared.

“Slept well last night, brother?” she taunted. “I hope you did. You’ll need the sleep. We have so many parties to attend, you know, in honor of our victory.” Zuko was quiet. “Finally learned to hold your tongue? You’ll need that too, when it’s your turn to talk to Father.”

“What—” And there it was again, Zuko catching himself and going quiet while his eyes tracked over everything. He was even twitchier than she remembered, even twitchier than before the eclipse. She’d have _fun_ with that, if Father took his time before he punished him.

But this time his eyes didn’t stay on her face. The look in those eyes made her bitter, bitter, _bitter._ Poor little Zuzu, with so many feelings, and so many failures. He could just _burn_ already.

“Azula,” he began. She threw fire in his face and he flinched all the way into the wall.

“Owlcat got your tongue, brother?”

“—Are you okay?” And there it was again, that _look_ , the look he’d burn for like the rest of this place, like the rest of the _world_ when she got her hands on it, until everything was perfect and she was perfect and…

“Out! Get out!”

He opened his mouth, and closed it. And then he left, just like she wanted. Just like everyone else. Just like everyone should.

She stalked away, leaving the courtyard behind to burn until the servants put it out.

\--

He came back that evening, letting himself into her bedroom with quiet footsteps.

“Have you seen a healer?” he asked.

She ignored him until he left, leaving a tin of burn cream on her dresser, and closed the door behind him. She didn’t touch it. As if she needed it. She hadn’t _failed._

He didn’t show up to breakfast the next day. Father must have dealt with him by now. The smirk that came to her face with the thought was an instinct.

High noon found her in the training grounds, with flames dancing on her fingertips: the perfect weapons. Her shoulders burned, but she had never been weak enough to care. She finished her katas and moved to working with lightning. It balanced her, the act of perfectly splitting the world in half and flinging it back together in different shapes. This was how the universe worked: with all things at the mercy of the strong, everything could be broken, and remade as a tool in their hands. In _her_ hands, until all was as it should be.

The crash of reunion was always visceral and violent and perfect—

Until it slipped. The crash flung her halfway across the yard, skidding, and she fumbled her recovery out of shock alone.

“How _dare_ you!” she screamed. At least the place was empty. At least—

Zuko stood near the door to the palace, nearly hidden save for where the red of his robes betrayed him. She turned her hands in the air, and this time the split and reunion were perfect, but he was gone before the impact.

Father did not eat dinner with her that night. Zuko tried to, but she ordered him out, and again he left.

When he turned up in her room again, after the sun had fallen, she only glared.

“Do you have something to say this time?” she asked. “Or would you prefer to continue skulking about like some kind of half-rate assassin.”

“Ah. Right.” Zuko scratched the back of his neck, looking awkwardly to the side. Azula lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Well?”

“…I spoke with Father today,” he said. Azula yawned—a silent message that he’d likely be too oblivious to even notice. _Get to the point, dum-dum._ “He asked me about Ba Sing Se.”

She wasn’t _concerned_ , of course.

“And?”

“He told me he was disappointed, but not surprised.” Azula sat bolt upright. Not for any particular reason, of course.

“Oh?”

“That I failed to kill the Avatar,” Zuko continued. “But it was only what he’d expect, from the first attempt at lightning by such a notably poor student. At least my aim was good.” He stared at her. Her face was blank, as it should be. “He said he’d come to the training grounds tomorrow at noon, to offer pointers.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You know why.”

She stayed quiet, just long enough to see him squirm.

“It sounds like you’ve got yourself a problem,” she said.

“So do you.” He made eye contact deliberately. Credit where credit’s due, he’d really improved on the intimidation front since his exile. She might have even been proud of him, if she cared, which she didn’t. “Father suspects. I think…” Zuko bit his lip, and then got over it. “I think he suspects something. I’m not a good firebender—”

“Oh, you don’t need to tell _me._ ”

“—I was nowhere near lightning when I left, and Uncle never… he tried to teach me, but I couldn’t, and then we were in Ba Sing Se, and…” He swallowed. Azula rolled her eyes. Subtlety had never been Zuzu’s strong point. “But he saw the scar. The Avatar's. So either I’m a lightning-bender by tomorrow, or he knows.” His eyes drifted to her shoulders. “And then we'll both be in trouble. Worse than you already are. You have to work with me.” She adjusted her nightgown, careful as can be.

“And what do I get in return?” she asked, twisting a smirk across her lips to draw his gaze back to her face. "After all, I might be fine. Father likes me best, you know." He hesitated. For a moment, she almost expected him to grow a spine and turn away, but this was a calculated bet she was making. He'd better not. 

“I… I have a plan,” Zuko said. He swallowed thickly, eyeing her shoulders. The nightgown had slipped down off one shoulder again, and she _hated_ that look in his eyes. “Or—or not a plan, I guess, um. More of an idea. But.”

“Get to the point, Zuzu.”

“I can help you redeem yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This chapter was kind of more of a prologue than anything, to establish the AU and the character dynamic I'm working with and all that fun stuff. Next time, we get started on the /real/ action.... that is, if Zuko and Azula can agree on their plan. I haven't written fanfic since like 2014, so I'm still finding my footing in terms of pacing my productivity, but I do have a decent chunk of chapter 2 written already. So hopefully I'll see you soon?


	2. Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko explains the plan... about as well as he explains anything. Azula tries her hand at teaching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, & thanks again for reading! I got so many nice comments on Chapter 1 and it really made my day, y'all are the best. <3 You may have noticed that the chapter count increased. This is because the original Chapter 2 got completely carried away from me, so I broke it in half to give myself a little more breathing room and flesh out some scenes that I originally planned to just skim over. Apparently Zuko's muse in my head likes to monologue, who woulda thunk? 
> 
> CWs in this chapter: mostly just the big one for child abuse, and also some vague mentions of torture. 
> 
> Also, I wanna state for the record that I am a gen writer and this is a gen fic mostly focused on familial relationships. One character caring about another does not a romance make, and Azula being Azula doesn't necessarily mean much either. Shipping is fun if you're into that, I just don't want to get anybody's hopes up for something that probably won't happen! :)

“That,” Azula said after listening, “is the most absurd, convoluted, nonsensical luck-based excuse for a plan I’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing.”

“Do you have a better one?” Zuko snapped. He stood from the chair where he’d collapsed after detailing his—she couldn’t even dignify it with the title of plan anymore, more of a delusion. She’d laugh, if it wasn’t so insane.

“You’ve taken quite the risk, talking about this with me,” she said. “You never know who might be listening.”

“Nice try,” he said. “I’ve checked. We’re alone.” She frowned. Well, _that_ wasn’t like her Zuzu. He wasn’t exactly known for thinking ahead.

“So your _plan_ is to publicly humiliate Father by committing high treason in disguise to free dangerous war criminals—some of whom _I locked up_ —on the presumptions that one; they’ll stay freed long enough to be recaptured by us personally. Two; we’ll be able to make enough of a scene out of their capture, before enough of an audience, to restore my favor publicly and unquestionably. Three; Father will actually wait long enough after hearing about an escape for this ‘plan’ to come to fruition and not oh, I don’t know, find evidence to catch us in the act? Rage across the palace and punish us for not killing them in the first place before they could shame him? Order them all executed on sight before we even get the chance to act ourselves?” She ticked off the points on her fingers, looking Zuko in the eye.

“…Yes,” he said sheepishly. “That’s pretty much it.” Honestly, _how_ had he taken two hours trying to explain this?

“Father doesn’t fail. You don’t know what he’d do, if he did. You don’t know who he’d _really_ blame. Not to mention what happens if the Avatar and friends decide they don’t want to cooperate with the actual jailbreaks this… thing… relies upon. They aren’t as smart as I am, of course, but they aren’t _stupid._ ”

“It… worked for me before?” Zuko said. “The jailbreak idea. More or less.” Azula raised an eyebrow.

“Right,” she said. “And that’s how you captured the Avatar.” He groaned.

“I know what I’m doing,” Zuko insisted. “And I know _you._ We can make this work. It’ll take time, and we’ll need to… to trick them first, but I know how to put on a show.”

“You did always enjoy the theater,” Azula mused. “And I suppose the Avatar’s friends _are_ quite gullible.”

“You’d have to work with me,” he said.

“Well, obviously. I can’t have you using this against me.” She leaned forward. “That is, if you even have that in you. How do I know you don’t have an ulterior motive?”

And there it was, the flinch she was used to every time she cornered her brother. It was calmer now, stifled, but undeniably there. She narrowed her eyes.

“If I took you down, you’d take me down with you,” he said. He wasn’t looking her in the eye anymore. “I know you would. So it doesn’t matter.”

He could have taken this as an opportunity to threaten her. Azula would have, in his shoes. Not that Father would care, of course—even now, Azula knew she was smart enough to turn this around. What good was Zuko’s word against her own, if it came down to it? But he still had the chance to try. She wondered if it even occurred to him. Poor Zuzu, always so sentimental.

But she was listening. 

“Listen,” Zuko was saying, as if she wasn’t. “I know it’s—it’s ridiculous, and treasonous, and risky. But. But I…” He wouldn’t stop looking at her shoulders. She could make his match, if he kept doing it. It would be hilarious, seeing his face if she did. He took a deep breath, and she rolled her eyes.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this, but tell me in the morning,” she said. “Let’s talk lightning.”

\--

Zuko couldn’t believe that worked.

He’d agonized over talking to Azula for hours, ever since the invasion. Ever since he saw her slink out of the throne room, really.

He’d found himself trying to think like her. There was a list of things in his mind that he knew he could control, in this new end to the war, and it was short.

He could control his heart. That was new, but important enough to top the list. Even if he couldn’t flee the palace, now that there was nowhere else to go, he knew where he stood and how he felt. The Avatar was hurt, but he wasn’t dead. It was a near miss, but his father had been calculating. A new Water or Earth Avatar would grow into a threat to whatever thing adjacent to peace Ozai established after the comet. It was easier to keep the current one under lock and key, for as long as he survived. And as long as the Avatar—as long as _Aang_ was alive, Zuko still had hope. He still had a shot. Pohuai, Round Two. Uncle was out there somewhere too, far from Caldera and free. As long as he remembered this, Father wouldn’t break him, not after he’d come this far.

He could control his temper. This one was almost as new as his heart, and extremely questionable, but he was learning. He’d been quiet in the war room, and he was quiet in court, and his time in the Earth Kingdom had prepared him well. He could take out his fury in fire and steel at night with nobody listening. Ozai preferred him quiet. It chafed at him, a reminder of everything else his father thought.

He could control his rooms in the palace: his bedroom and his parlor, where he’d sealed even the servants’ corridors with locks of his own to which he held the only keys. It was something he’d done weeks ago even before he fully realized how unsafe he was. Most of the time, they went unlocked and unnoticed, but it was his choice, and that made it simpler. He controlled the hidden slat in the bottom of his bed where he hid his dao, and the false bottom to his sock drawer that hid nothing, yet, but could.

He could control his own destiny, and as long as he was careful, his destiny didn’t have to change. The invasion had been a lot of bad luck all at once, but that was fine. He could make his own luck, just like he always had. Zuko was good at impossible odds.

It really was just Pohuai, Round Two. Maybe he’d have to pick up a few extra people this time, but he could handle it, and they could handle themselves once he’d broken them out. Things almost seemed easier this time. He had all the resources of the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, nestled in the heart of the capitol, with his honor restored. His father didn’t like him, and never had, but the court had… adjusted. As long as his disguise worked, he could make a thousand alibis, he could be in and out easy as anything. He could run with the Avatar and his friends somewhere safe when the time came, and smuggle them in once they were strong enough—really and truly strong enough, this time around.

But then… then he’d be leaving Azula behind.

It hadn’t bothered him before the eclipse. Father loved Azula. They thought the same way, in games with battalions as pawns, with careful calculations to keep them in power. She was everything Father’d ever wanted and it burned him but he’d promised Mother, before she left, and he knew she would be… safe wasn’t the word. No one was safe around Ozai. But he wouldn’t hurt her, the way he hurt Zuko.

Now, he wasn’t sure. He’d seen the burns on her shoulders that she tried to hide, and he of all people knew what that meant. He’d expected Father to blame him first and most for this, but Ozai had a way of defying expectations. So if he was leaving, the plan had to change. He’d have to take Azula with him.

He couldn’t just _leave_ her.

But she wouldn’t just work with him, either, and that was where the plan came in. Azula wouldn’t turn on their father outright, not after everything, but the grey area in between was something he could work with. He remembered how that desperate loyalty felt. It had led him to the plan that inspired all of this, months ago, and if he could just lead Azula in the same direction…

Maybe Zuko’s first chance at a turning point could turn into Azula’s, too. Maybe if he showed her the truths he’d had to travel the whole Earth Kingdom to see, she’d understand.

Maybe she wouldn’t. It’d take a lot of luck, and that had never been Zuko’s strong point.

But he had to try.

He’d wanted to bring it up in the training grounds, when he found her with her lightning, but he’d forgotten how she loved to use him as target practice. So he kept trying, until she finally gave him the chance.

Next on the list of things he’d forgotten: the fact that he was _terrible_ at explanations. Really, what had he been thinking? He babbled through it anyway, trying to think like her, to find that logic, to remember what it had felt like to be a few months younger and desperate for any second chance.

It wasn’t either of their faults, that the Avatar had made it through, that his friends had caused as much chaos as they had. They were _strong_ , and Father didn’t understand. If there was one thing Zuko learned over the years of his banishment, it was that where words failed, shared _experience_ created understanding and empathy. He didn’t have much faith in his father’s ability to empathize, but Ba Sing Se had taught him how to lie, and Azula had always wanted to believe.

So, the logic followed, they’d help Father find his empathy by teaching him the feeling of failure. By busting the Avatar’s friends out of prison. (And eventually the Avatar himself, but it couldn’t hurt to have help for that part. His friends would make excellent scapegoats, is what he told Azula, so no one could blame it on the mysterious teenagers in Spirit masks. He almost gagged on his own vomit saying it.)

Once Father realized that even _he_ wasn’t immune to the truly infuriating escape skills of a bunch of random teenagers—and Zuko didn’t have to lie to himself or anyone else about his feelings towards that particular detail of this particular group—Zuko and Azula (mostly Azula) would swoop in and recapture them in a blaze of glory, proving that they could do…

Well, honestly, Zuko wasn’t sure what they were _proving._ He just figured it seemed like something that would make Azula happy. She could fill in the blanks however she liked. He wasn’t a _plan_ person, okay? He was more of a… jump in head first, do something stupid, and suffer the consequences for years afterwards until somebody else bailed him out, person. Maybe he should have spent more time thinking this through before dragging it up to his supergenius sister like an owlcat dragging in a dead bug. They’d prove that, uh, Dad drools and the Prince and Princess rule. Yeah. That.

But it didn’t matter, because he didn’t have _time_ for thinking things through. The comet crept closer every day, and every day he waited was another day lost. Another day he and Azula spent in Ozai’s court with the lie they shared hanging over them. Another day the Avatar and his friends wasted away in prison, losing the strength they’d need when the comet arrived. Which was why the plan couldn’t work the way Azula thought it would, but she wouldn’t guess what he was really doing. She didn’t think that way, not yet. She thought in advantages and in strategies, not in love and kindness. He just hoped that one day, she _could._

If along the way he managed to convince Azula that putting the Avatar and co _back_ in prison was a bad thing for the world? That she didn’t _need_ Father’s favor to be worth something, and maybe they’d both be better off without him? Well, then maybe they wouldn’t have to fight before Zuko could do what he knew he needed to. He’d take a leaf out of Uncle’s book to guide her down the right path, and pretend that thinking about Uncle didn’t burn him worse than his father’s fist to the face.

Somehow, by some blessing of all the Spirits, Azula listened.

So now they were in the training grounds, at midnight, talking about lightning.

“You’re too sentimental, Zuzu,” Azula said. “It makes you weak.” She’d insisted on putting her lipstick back on, and wasted ten whole minutes finishing the knife-sharp corners by tracing along an actual literal knife. (Which she didn’t hold safely, but he could address that later.) Now, she stood sneering at one end of the yard in her bathrobe, watching him like an eaglehawk. He sighed.

“We don’t have time to redo my personality right now,” he said in lieu of unpacking that.

“Very well,” she simpered. “But I’m not kidding. It really does hold you back.” She stalked towards him, tilting her head. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to push down the throbbing in his skull. So maybe he hadn’t slept since the invasion, but it wasn’t _that_ much of an issue. “Take that robe off. I need to see your posture in the katas.” He obliged her with clenched teeth.

“If your goal is to calm me down, it’s not working.”

“You think I need you to be _calm_?” Azula laughed. “Please. I need you to pay attention. You said Uncle taught you the forms? Show me.”

He nodded, and took his stance. Azula stepped back and sneered again, but he elected to ignore her as he took a deep breath. How had Uncle put it? Separate the energies…

Uncle’s words were a knife to the throat that he choked on, and the air at his fingertips popped and burst. He felt himself flung backwards into the ground, wheezing. Somewhere above him, Azula clapped slowly, and snickered.

“Bravo, Brother,” she said. “I don’t know what I expected.”

“Do you _mind_?” he snapped, peeling himself off the floor and brushing sand out of his clothes. Half his hair had escaped his topknot, and he didn’t have the energy to deal with it right now.

“Breathe,” Azula said. “What’s going on in your head right now?”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Simple. Your form is fine enough. Not perfect, but it’ll do, and Father likes to have something to correct when it comes to _you_.” Zuko scoffed. “You know, to take his mind off… other things. It’s your mentality that’s off.”

“Explain,” he grated.

“You don’t need to be _calm_ ,” Azula said, “but you need to focus. You’re too sentimental. Let me guess, you got _sad_ and started thinking of our traitor uncle who taught you first and lost your grip. You’re scared of _hurting_ something.” She laughed again. “It’s so _like_ you.”

“How is this funny?!”

“Think about it,” Azula said. “You already hurt him, just like he deserved, and it’s over.” It would help if she could stop _talking_ about it. “What are you going to hurt here? A worm? A fly? A passing bird? Surely not _me_ ,” she simpered. “You wouldn’t have the nerve. Even if you wanted to, I don’t think you could.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It is, though. You’re scared and I can see it in your eyes.” Azula sniffed. “Look. The war is practically over already. You won’t even _need_ to use lightning against someone, if you don’t want to. You need it once, tomorrow, for Father. You’re free to be pathetic and useless for the rest of your sad little life, however long it lasts, but for now? I know you’re sentimental, but if you really care too much to even hurt a wooden target, I don’t think I can help you. Breathe. The only thing anyone cares if you destroy here is me, and you won’t.”

There were a lot of things Zuko wanted to say to that, but he couldn’t actually put words to any of them, so he did what she told him to and breathed. Uncle would have wanted him to. He’d always wanted the best for Zuko. Always wanted him to keep fighting.

And she had a point. This late at night, any servants on the grounds would be inside, cleaning up or preparing for tomorrow. It was why they’d waited—he’d rather not have witnesses. So if something bad happened… well, the only one who’d see it was Azula.

Which was concerning in and of itself, come to think of it. She had enough blackmail material on him already. But there was nothing else to do, so he centered himself, and breathed.

It was easy to feel the energy now, easier than it had been the last time he’d tried to call lightning, on that mountain top that he _wasn’t_ going to think about. Sleep deprivation brought about a kind of clarity. Maybe he was just too tired to overthink this. Yin and yang. Positive and negative. He had to do this, because if he couldn’t, everything fell apart. He had to do this, because his destiny relied on it, the destiny he’d finally had it in him to choose for himself before the eclipse fell apart. He knew what he had to do. And all he had to do was…

Pull it apart, and then ease it back together. Just like that, standing rooted in himself, in a way he hadn’t been before.

To his credit, he managed to see the bolt hit the target before he started freaking out.

“Huh,” Azula said. “I didn’t expect you to actually pull it off.”

“Neither did I,” he gasped, almost hyperventilating, and suddenly they were laughing like they were children again.

She pulled him to his feet, nails biting into his skin, and he did it again. Azula nitpicked his footwork and they laughed together, hysterical and brilliant and mindless, the sound melting into the thunder echoing back from the edge of the caldera. They laughed until the pits of the night, until it was time to creep back inside like it had never happened. They laughed like there wasn’t a world and an empire between them.

When they reached the place where they’d part, Azula grabbed his arm again and pulled him aside with that knife back in her hand.

“Mention this again, and I _will_ kill you,” she said neatly, and then she left.

\--

Zuko didn’t sleep well, but he slept, which was something. When the rising sun dragged him out of the latest gentle nightmare, his headache was at least down to manageable levels, even if his fingertips stung with the memory of static.

Azula met him for breakfast and ruined any goodwill she’d earned last night by offering to reheat his breakfast and setting it on fire instead before he could respond. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. A nervous kitchen servant came to replace it, but he shooed her away. He’d eaten worse, and he didn’t like the look Azula was giving her. He’d seen that look before, usually before somebody got seriously injured.

The knot in his stomach grew over the morning, while he sat with Mai in her parlor and traded a word or two at a time over tea and dumplings. She didn’t _ask_ what was wrong, but he could feel the question in her empty gaze. He didn’t answer it.

By the time he made it to the training grounds at noon, his heart was going like a frantic rabbiroo, and Ozai was nowhere to be found. It was fine. He’d be fine. _Azula_ believed in him, which sounded like a joke, but his life hadn’t made sense since his banishment and he didn’t expect it to start now. He’d be okay. He had to be okay.

He started with the breath, until he settled into his skin, as much as he could right now. When he stepped into the beginning of the lightning kata, he paused, just to feel the energy without disrupting anything yet. It was still there. So he continued, just to make sure he could. The impact was harsher in the bold light of day, and he barely contained it, but he stayed on his feet.

With that out of the way, he ran through his basics, the patterns he fell into without even thinking, and waited.

He noticed Ozai before he was probably meant to. His father moved quietly, with barely an honor guard to escort him, and Azula close at his heel. When Zuko turned and knelt into the proper full bow, Father let him stay there for a while, saying nothing.

“Rise,” he said finally. Zuko rose.

Father hadn’t sat in on Zuko’s training since his return to Caldera. Zuko hadn’t missed it. He ran through his basics first, with Ozai lurking at the edge of the yard, and then the intermediate sets, and then the advanced. Father said nothing, which might have been a compliment or a threat. Both options made his spine crawl.

When he landed at the end of the Striking Phoenix, Ozai stepped forward, and Zuko almost stopped breathing. His ankle had wobbled, and he’d almost lost his balance. Uncle would have gently shifted his stance into place, and congratulated him on good work. Father… hopefully hadn’t noticed.

“You have improved,” he said. None of the tension left Zuko’s shoulders. “With work, you’ll measure up to Azula, two years ago.”

Zuko didn’t speak. He just bowed, holding the sign of the flame close to his chest, and did not straighten until his father gave a shallow nod to continue.

“I would like to see the lightning that nearly felled the Avatar,” said Ozai.

“Yes, Father,” Zuko said. His mouth was dry. His heartbeat had almost returned to normal, but now it ratcheted up again until he swore his father would hear it through his skin. His face was cold. In the corner of his good eye he found Azula, who had kept her distance. She narrowed her eyes at him, the corner of an eyebrow twitching ever so slightly. Apart from this, her face was perfectly calm. If she was worried, it would never show.

He did not turn his back on his father. He took a few steps back, for distance, and Ozai glided seamlessly to the side to watch. He breathed, in, hold, out. In, hold longer, out. His foot slid back, and he eased into the shapes he’d tested here at midnight before. Inhale, hold, exhale. The arms circle here, and the universe parts like a set of heavy curtains.

He threw lightning while watching himself in third person, detached from the movement of his body, tethered to the earth only by the knowledge that his hard-fought destiny hinged on this success.

It wasn’t _good_ lightning. It was weak, burning a blaze into the target but nothing more, and the thunder barely rippled on the air—but it was lightning.

“You learned your uncle’s style,” Ozai said, “but with none of his power. Your footwork is sloppy. Do it again.”

And Zuko did, while his father threw fire at his feet to keep them moving and Azula laughed. He only relaxed when they left for lunch.

Azula met his eyes again while she was leaving, the ghost of a smirk shading her cheekbones. Zuko sat down in the dust and rubbed at the stinging burns on his ankles and tried not to think about what Uncle had done, when Zuko was burned during practice or a spar. The way Uncle always had burn cream in one pocket, and bandages in another, and held Zuko’s hand while he tended to the wounds. Uncle was free, and Uncle was safe, and Zuko was strong enough now to handle the consequences of his own decisions.

\--

“Do you have time?”

Azula had _expected_ her brother to turn up in the morning, but apparently he couldn’t handle a bit of sisterly teasing over breakfast, so he moped off to play with Mai instead. She’d have to have a _talk_ with her friends about Zuko-related behaviors. By the time he crawled in, a few hours after his training session, Azula had almost given up on seeing him until tomorrow.

“I _always_ have time for my darling brother,” Azula said, rolling her eyes. “You’re late.”

“Did you have to burn my eggs?”

“Your lightning was a mess,” Azula observed. “I’m surprised Father went so easy on you. Really, I’m surprised he didn’t prune the family tree after your failure during the eclipse. Maybe your luck’s finally taking a turn.”

“If he wanted me dead, he could have killed me years ago,” Zuko said. “We need to talk about the plan.”

“For Father’s birthday gift? Yes, let’s.” Zuko blinked, sheer bafflement crossing his face for a moment until he caught on. _Really?_ She knew her brother was slow on the uptake, but the way he always found new ways to surprise her with his cluelessness was astounding.

“…Yes. That,” he said eventually, shifting on his feet. “We can meet in… um, my parlor.”

He didn’t go to his parlor. Instead, he let himself into the nearest servants’ hall and struck a confident path into a meeting room in the underused diplomats’ wing of the palace. Once they arrived, he peered into all the exits, rustled every tapestry, and finally settled down to pace a tight ring around the tea table.

“So,” he said.

“So,” Azula echoed.

“So obviously we can’t res—um, retrieve them all at once,” he said without preamble. “So we need to… uh, prioritize. With which one we retrieve first.”

“I’m still unclear on why you think this is a good idea.”

“I keep saying, if you have a better one, tell me.” Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. “We want to have all of them out when we bust out the Avatar, they’ll be helpful and he’s the least likely one to trust our disguises. He’s already seen mine.”

“You’re remarkably blasé about admitting to treason,” Azula said.

“You would have figured it out,” Zuko sighed. “You know that. Anyway.”

“If we’re talking sheer utility, I vote for the metalbender.”

“The _what_?”

“You’re kidding.” Azula stared at her brother, whose eyes flickered back and forth as he puzzled his way through the sentence. He was frowning. “The metalbender? The one who left handprints on the bunker door?”

“She _what_?”

“This is pathetic.” Her hand twitched, and it took all her focus not to scrub it down her face in exhaustion. “You spent how long chasing these people?”

“They didn’t even have an earthbender when I was chasing them! I met their earthbender _once_! Isn’t bending metal impossible, isn’t that the whole point of metal?” Zuko’s eyebrows knitted together, and he gestured as he talked.

“As I was saying,” Azula continued, “she’ll provide a tactical advantage when it comes to releasing the other ones. Which I maintain is an absurd plan, I don’t see why we couldn’t do this one at a time.”

“It looks more impressive if we catch them all at once, and I know you can do it.”

“Of _course_ I can. I suppose if your heart is set on it… she’s a powerful bender, but physically unimpressive. And releasing her should be very simple. She’ll be kept in a wooden cell, and wood burns.”

“We can’t just set things on fire!”

“Please, Zuzu. I could even do it without hurting her, if you _absolutely_ insist. There’ll be plenty of time to hurt her later on.”

“No, you’re going to listen to me, I’m serious,” Zuko insisted. “We can’t firebend them out. They won’t trust firebenders, and we don’t want it getting out that the Avatar’s friends have firebenders on their side. Azula, you’re—argh—you’re the strongest firebender I can think of, you flame _blue_ , think they won’t recognize your bending? You think the prison guards won’t?”

“…Point,” she conceded. “This is ridiculous.”

“And you took the earthbender out personally,” Zuko said. “With your fire. And she’s probably been interrogated with more fire. You can’t go putting fire in her face right now and expect her to cooperate.”

“One of the water peasants, then. They’ll be trickier to work with.” She sighed. “The waterbender is dangerous and uncooperative, but the nonbender is clever and he’s learned how I operate. I have emotional leverage against him, because I’m an expert, but all he needs to do to bring us down with him is figure us out. They’ll both be trouble. I still think we need the metalbender working with us when we acquire them, to make them trust us.”

“Katara… ah, the waterbender, she might be… gullible?” Azula studied Zuko, who was making a really interesting face. She tilted an eyebrow at him.

“Perhaps we should skip her altogether,” Azula said. “We may not need _all_ of them.”

“Once we get one, they’ll want all the others,” Zuko said. “If we don’t help get all of them, before we put on the show, they won’t trust us long enough for us to keep them away from Father.”

“Oh, I forgot,” Azula said, catching the way his lip twitched down before he spoke. “You _bonded_ with her in Ba Sing Se, didn’t you? Keeping a soft spot for an enemy of the nation?”

“No,” Zuko snapped, a little too quickly. She kept the eyebrow raised, and watched him until he grimaced. “I spent longer chasing them than you did. I know how they think. If we’re doing this, we have to commit.” Well, that was audacious of him.

“I could tell Father,” Azula said. “What you’re plotting here is a bit more than a moment of inadequacy. He’ll be disappointed, but not surprised.”

“Don’t.” And there was the fear again. Zuko’s eyes had blown wide, and he stepped back with a gulp. “You can’t.” Azula laughed.

“You owe me.” She twirled a piece of hair between her fingers. “Work on your poker face, Zuzu. It’ll never be as good as mine, but that’s no excuse not to try. If someone finds out that you’re planning something…” How _did_ he manage in front of Father, anyway? He was so easy to wrap around her finger, always had been. It was like he _wanted_ to be played. He sighed.

“It’d be hard to convince anyone that the nonbender escaped by himself,” Zuko said. “He’s… if you say he’s clever, then he’s clever, but he’s important enough to go somewhere difficult to crack. Which isn’t to say we couldn’t do it, but no one would believe that a Spirit came to rescue…” He pursed his lip, an old memory from winter bubbling up. “Maybe they might, actually, but he’s in less trouble than the others. He’s got nothing to lose from hanging around in whatever prison they threw him into. The benders will get weaker, and… and if they’re weak that makes recapturing them easier, but they won’t be nearly as helpful for the first half of the plan, and we want them to put up enough of a fight in the second that you look impressive defeating them. Benders first.”

“Ugh,” Azula scoffed. “If you _insist._ ”

“And—and they’re siblings, right? The Water Tribe peasants. So if we get one, the other one will like us more. The smart one _could_ figure us out, but if he trusts his sister, and we get his sister to trust us…”

“I wonder what Mai would think about your priorities?”

“Why are you—oh, never mind, of _course_ you’re like that,” he grumbled. Azula smirked. “Waterbender first, and you’re not funny. I did some research before I came here, there aren’t a lot of waterbender prisons still active. She shouldn’t be too hard to find. We just need to figure out which prison she’s in.”

“Keep me updated,” Azula said. “The archivists always keep a close eye on my work, when I visit.”

She could turn him in, and it would be so easy. But her shoulders stung, in the silence, and proving herself at the end of this would feel _good._ Maybe she could even humiliate Zuko in the process, get him out of the way of her succession once her name was fully cleared. It wasn’t as if he could stop her.

She’d play along, for now.

Father did not eat dinner with her that night, nor the next morning. Not that it mattered. He’d make time for her.

\--

“Do you miss traveling?”

Azula did not _flinch._ That would be unseemly, and she was far too clever to be startled. But if she was a bit hasty to immolate the idiot who’d just had the nerve to slip into her _private_ parlor, well, that was only good sense. Assassins could come at any time, in any form.

Zuko had good reflexes, as always, and apparently a quieter step than she’d realized. Her eye twitched.

“The only lady whose private rooms you ought to be sneaking into is Mai, Zuzu. Surely whatever you want to talk about can wait.”

“I thought it might be nice to take another trip,” Zuko said. “Uh. See how our nation is thriving after your latest victory. Honor some of the more distant noble families who can’t make it to court as often. I’ve only been home a few weeks, I have a lot of catching up to do. I hear Ty Lee’s parents were granted an estate in the northeast recently? It might be nice to visit.” It was agonizing, listening to him prattle on. Every time she thought he was _finished_ , another sentence started bumbling out.

“I have a lot of important work to do right here,” Azula said. “Ty Lee would be very sad if we visited her family without telling her.”

“She could… come? If she wanted to. I thought she wouldn’t want to.”

“Perhaps.”

“I mean it would be _really helpful,_ ” Zuko plowed on. “If you’d like to travel with me. I can speak with Father about it, if you want.”

“Yes, Zuzu, I get it. You think we'll make a friend there.” She rolled her eyes. “Bring Mai and Ty Lee, and we’ll see if we can’t have a better time than we did on Ember Island. Maybe find a cute boy or girl to play with.”

“And when we get back, they can… uh…”

“What happens on vacation stays on vacation,” Azula said. The girls wouldn't question her if she told them to stay out of the way, after all, they _adored_ her. “Go on, ask Father. See what he says.” She waved a hand at him imperiously. He slunk out of the room, as quietly as he’d appeared, and Azula sighed.

She’d probably have to request the trip herself, later. She’d never known Father to do _Zuko_ any favors, but it’d be funny to see his face when he came with his tail between his legs to tell her as much. He should know by now how things worked in their family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think canon made the right choice by never having Zuko create his own lightning, because in canon the lightning is used as a clear allegory for the abuse within his family. Learning to redirect it is symbolic of his character growth--take it in, feel it, let it pass through you but don't let it into your heart. It's one of the most powerful metaphors I've seen out of a kids' show and it is absolutely iconic. Having Zuko shoot lightning would create a weird mixed metaphor in which he... learns how to abuse people in the name of being a cool badass hero. 
> 
> That said, Iroh states in Bitter Work that the main reason Zuko can't do lightning is because he's not at peace with himself. It's his shame and inner turmoil and personal conflict that holds him back, not any deficit of strength or skill. His decision to leave his father and join the Gaang during the eclipse is a major turning point in his character arc. By making this choice, he's finally started to reach self-actualization, so a lot of that turmoil just isn't there anymore. He's sure of himself and his destiny in a way he never was before. Hence, I headcanon that he's perfectly capable of using lightning at this point in the story. He just doesn't, because it would weaken the metaphor that the writers created, and he doesn't need to. In this fic, he needs to. (Side note, I think that first lightning scene is one of my favorite things I've ever written.) 
> 
> Azula's actually not that bad a teacher, when her ass is on the line and she gets to yank Zuko's chain in the process. I see no reason why she wouldn't be--she's smart, she clearly knows exactly what she's doing, and she might be a perfectionist but in these circumstances that's not a fatal flaw. After all, nobody expects Zuko to be perfect. Unlike Azula, he's fine being just good enough. (I don't think she'd even want him to be perfect, because then she'd have competition.) 
> 
> Pohuai, for anyone unsure, is the name of the fortress Zuko rescued Aang from in the Blue Spirit episode. I mention this only because I don't think they ever name-drop it in the actual show, and I had to go on the wiki to figure it out when it started cropping up in other fanfics. 
> 
> Final note: I don't have a beta reader, and my editing process is mostly just "reread it a couple times and make sure the story is somewhat coherent," so there might be a few typos floating around. Last chapter I kept mixing up characters' pronouns, and I did catch some errors in the published version after it was posted... so like, if you see any truly stupid errors, please do point them out to me so I can fix them! (Just be nice... please... I am weak.) 
> 
> Next time: Katara!!! I have some things planned for the first heist that I'm really excited to share. Don't expect it to be up as fast as this one was, though, because it'll take me time to get those things just right.


	3. Blood and Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot to free Katara from prison gets underway. Nobody wants Zuko to try his hand at being a teacher, especially not Azula, who's naturally gifted at everything, obviously. Everyone yells at everyone about everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be about 3k shorter, but then Katara got angry. Oops. 
> 
> TW for graphic descriptions of torture in this one, and probably other stuff that isn't occurring to me right now. We're in waterbender hell jail, if you remember the Puppetmaster episode you know what's up. If there's anything more specific that y'all think I should be putting TWs for on any of these chapters, please let me know, because I do want to do my best with those. I'm used to writing original fic, where there's not really any etiquette for content warnings, and so I don't really know what needs to be tagged beyond the really really obvious.

Katara’s first day in prison was silent and numb. She fought back, because there was no other option. She fought back until they bound her in rope and in chains, bundled into a cart that bounced over hills and boulders in some unknown direction, alone. When she realized they’d gone too far, that she couldn’t even hear her people calling out for her, she wept.

She’d known what to expect from the moment they carted her off, but that didn’t make it easier. The air was harsh and dry in the hanging cage they forced her into, under a stony ceiling where she couldn’t see the moon. Her skin still ached and chafed from the chains. With the little sweat that dripped from her skin in the heat, she healed the worst of it, but the guard threw fire when he saw her and then she had nothing.

Aang and the others _must_ have made it out. They wouldn’t give up that easily, and they’d come for her. It was only a matter of time. Right?

She’d expected the heat, and the dry, and the agony of not even knowing what happened.

She hadn’t expected the singing in the darkness, after the guards blew out the torches for the evening and took posts outside of the hall where the cages hung: voices echoing in gentle unison against the concrete walls.

\--

It took the better part of another day for Zuko to receive a proper audience with Father, but it didn’t take long for him to report back to Azula with a determined glint in his eyes.

“I think he wanted us out of the way anyway,” he said. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

They didn’t waste a lot of time talking. He hadn’t needed Azula’s help at all, had he? Clearly, Father’s standards were slipping. Ty Lee bounced into Azula’s rooms halfway through packing with an almost nervous energy.

“Are you sure you want me to come?” she asked, wide-eyed. “I haven’t seen my parents in a while. I don’t think they’re happy with me.”

“You’re with me,” Azula said. “Everyone wants their child this close to the royal court. They’ll manage.”

“You’ve never met my sisters…”

“We’re on _vacation_. Relax. We’ll be home in a couple of days, and you can go back to pretending like none of them exist.” Azula sighed, and then glowered at the servants who’d paused in the business of packing her bags. “Hurry up,” she snapped, “I don’t have all day to make sure you do your jobs correctly.” They mumbled some platitudes that she didn’t particularly care about.

“If you say so,” Ty Lee said. “Will you help me talk to them? And my parents? I’m sure you’d be smart enough to get them to understand.”

“Understand what? Why you joined the circus? I suppose I could, but you’ll have to explain to me first, because it really _was_ a waste of your talents,” Azula said, but Ty Lee was already grinning in that bright open way she had. Any further qualifiers would have to wait for later.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” she bubbled. “You’re the bestest friend anyone could ever have!” Ty Lee actually _hugged_ her. With her arms over Azula’s shoulders.

It didn’t _hurt_ , of course. It wouldn’t _dare_ hurt, it just shoved the fabric of her undershirt into the parts of her skin that most certainly were _not_ still raw and sore. It _definitely_ didn’t burn enough that she could feel her heartbeat in the flesh because Azula wasn’t _weak._ Everything was fine, she just—sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth and eyed the stupid fucking _cream_ Zuko left on her dresser, which she should have gotten rid of days ago.

“Get off me,” she snapped, pushing the acrobat away. “Go… pack your things, or practice backflips, or whatever it is you do in your free time.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Ty Lee grinned again and skipped out of the room with even more of a spring in her step than she’d started with. Azula grit her teeth until her skull ached.

She chased the servants out with fire on her hands the next time one of them looked at her, and rummaged for something that could serve as a bandage. _Quickly_ , because every second she spent thinking about this was a second that crackled bitter-sharp against her pride. She spent as little time looking at the marks as she could, tied a pair of stockings around each one, and settled her robes over them until they were perfect enough that no one would ever know.

Her head ached horribly. She took her displeasure out on a tapestry near the dining room until she was herself enough to laugh at the flames again.

\--

Zuko met her in the diplomats’ wing after sundown. She’d expected more talk, but instead he’d brought swords. He was even twitchier than usual, pacing enough to burn a path in the tatami.

“Didn’t Father ban those from the house when you were twelve?” she asked, eyeing the dao in their sheath on his back. Zuko didn’t answer, just gave her a look. “I suppose what Father doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

“Unless it’s the Avatar,” Zuko quipped. He grimaced half-heartedly, trying to laugh but not trying hard enough. Azula didn’t give him the dignity of a response.

“Did you get blueprints?”

“Not that I could walk away with, but I managed to look at some. She shouldn’t be hard to find as long as we don’t get spotted. They keep the waterbenders in these hanging cage things… All we have to do is get in, get the guards out of the way, lower the cage to let her out, and get out again.” Zuko was still pacing. It was starting to get on her nerves—one more thing out of a thousand today.

“So what are we doing here? And stop pacing. It makes you look weak.”

“Planning,” he said. “We can’t use fire. You never…ah, I don’t know how much experience you… um. You have that knife, I wanted to know if you…” He melted under her withering stare, his words fizzling into nothing. She raised an eyebrow.

“If I what?”

“If you can fight with it,” he finally spat out. “The papers on this prison said they don’t hire too many guards anymore, but we can’t assume they won’t add more for the Avatar’s waterbending teacher. I can only take out so many. I’ll need your help, and we can’t use fire. So if you can’t, I want to help you. Like you helped me with lightning.”

“You’re overthinking this,” she said, studying her nails. Her left pinky had a bit of char stuck beneath it, something her manicurist had missed. Pathetic. She’d have to be reprimanded, later. “It’s a knife. You stab things with it. Firebending is superior in combat for a reason, knives have no art.”

“I’d like to see you tell Mai that,” Zuko said.

“She knows,” Azula said lightly. “Mai doesn’t use _knives_ , she uses needles and shuriken. Besides, Mai is exceptional. As if I’d settle for anything less.” Zuko didn’t stop pacing. She rolled her eyes. “I can handle a knife.” He frowned, thinking.

“Can you pick pockets? Or locks?”

“Can you?” She raised an eyebrow, waiting for the flinch. It didn’t come.

“Yeah,” he said. “Three years in exile searching enemy territory for the Avatar, and months on the run from you? I learned some stuff.”

“That’s not a very princely skill.”

“It’s useful. And it’s not that difficult, usually. Most locks all work the same. If you want, I can show you—”

“I don’t need to _pick locks_ ,” Azula said. “We’re _royalty,_ Zuzu. You should know this sort of thing is beneath us.” He grit his teeth, and Azula smirked. Finally.

“Quit _acting_ like that!” he snapped. “This isn’t a joke! I need your help, we’re doing this together, I’m—I’m doing this for _you_ , damn it!”

“That’s very sweet and sentimental, but I don’t need you to teach me anything. Need I remind you that I was more successful in your last mission than you were for three entire years?”

“Argh!” Zuko shouted. He swore, slashing his swords through the air in complex patterns. A few sparks flew from his mouth. “You’re so--! Azula!”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” She clucked her tongue. Zuko sliced a gash through a tapestry, growling. 

“This was a terrible idea, I can’t believe this, I don’t know what I was _thinking._ ”

“I told you so,” Azula said. “Shame you weren’t listening.”

“Stop _doing_ that!” Zuko whirled on her, his shoulders heaving. “Stop! Just stop! I just want to—I don’t care about—I’m trying to help _you_! The way you never helped me, because Mother told me to—to—because I can’t just watch Father turn on you the way he turned on me, okay? Because I’m _sentimental!_ Is that what you want? To hear me say it? Well, congratulations, you win!”

She let him stew in it, while she simmered in the thrill of winning. What was he going to do? Back out of this? He wouldn’t dare. Maybe Azula could use the boost in reputation this victory would bring, but poor little Zuzu had _so_ much more to lose. He was actually _shaking_ , his knuckles white on the grips of his swords, as if he’d ever dare to raise them against her. He’d learned that lesson thoroughly by now. He couldn’t afford to lose her support. But their goals did align, so she couldn’t bask forever.

“We’ll talk tomorrow evening. I assume you’ll want to move at night,” Azula smirked. “Shoo, shoo.” She waved him out, and he left. She’d trained him well.

\--

The ride to Ty Lee’s parents’ new estate was long and awkward. As was the dinner they offered after introductions, seated around a table with all six of Ty Lee’s sisters. Keeping track of the names made Zuko’s head hurt.

“No wonder she left,” Mai muttered to him at dinner. “This place is a pastel nightmare, even by _her_ standards.” Zuko snorted.

Ty Lee was… happy wasn’t quite the right word. She’d spent the final hour of the ride chattering away to Azula about every single one of her sisters, their interests and hobbies, the things they’d done together as children, on and on and on. Azula was perfectly blank-faced, smiling vacantly the entire time. Her eye was twitching. And then they’d made it to the mansion and Ty Lee _repeated everything_ and that was the point when Zuko stopped listening. It was like Ty Lee expected to burst into flames if the room went quiet. Azula was perfectly polite in response, but they all knew she was reaching her limit.

He’d agreed to meet up with Azula just outside the estate’s garden wall an hour after midnight, when the rest of the household was asleep. Hopefully she’d follow through. He _had_ to hope, because apparently she was determined to keep playing mind games until the end of time. He’d add it to the list of other things he was hoping about: that they’d make it to the prison without being spotted, that security hadn’t changed too much since he checked the files in the archive, that Azula was stealthy enough to keep their cover, that Katara would actually _play along_ …

Zuko was _not_ looking forward to that conversation. Thinking about the last time he’d actually seen the waterbender made him sort of want to jump in the sea and never come out again. With his luck, she’d put an icicle through his gut the moment she recognized him, no questions asked. There was something about the ice in her eyes at Ba Sing Se that reminded him uncomfortably of Azula. Who would also be a problem, because if Katara wanted _Zuko_ dead, what did she think about his sister who’d shown her zero redeeming traits and who beat the shit out of all of her friends?

It’d have to be a problem for Future Zuko, because Present Zuko just wasn’t prepared to deal with it. He’d only have to talk to Katara if he actually rescued Katara.

He was starting to think Azula wasn’t coming. It would be so easy for her to screw him over, this was the worst plan he’d ever made, and Azula had something to lose if they were exposed right now but Zuko had _so much more_. He could already hear the excuses. _‘Yes, Father, I went along with it. How else would we have known how deep his treachery lies?’_ And then she’d laugh while the royal guard hauled him off to jail, because of course she would. Because he was so stupid, _stupid—_

“Miss me?” And the relief he felt at seeing Azula alone bodied him. He let out a long, slow breath, as some of the tension finally wound out of his shoulders.

“Hi,” he said.

She’d taken his instructions for once, and come dressed subtly in a mottled mix of mottled blues and greys so dark they edged on black, with two identical daggers strapped to her legs in simple holsters. Her hair clung close to her neck in a sloppy braid, chunks sticking out at random, and for _once_ she’d forgone the lipstick.

“Can we hurry? This disguise is giving me a headache.” She scratched at her head, and another chunk of hair popped out of the braid.

“Right,” Zuko said, swallowing the urge to fix it for her. She’d probably burn his hand off. “You remember the plan?”

“Take the airship’s lifeboat and park it up the mountain, sneak our way to the prison building, take out any guards who are actually awake, steal a key, let the waterbender out of her box, get out.” Azula yawned. “I’m not _stupid_ , Zuzu.”

“I know.” He took a deep breath. In, hold, out. “I know.”

“Come on, then.” She jerked her head at him.

“Wait.” Zuko rummaged in the small bag he’d brought along, and pulled out the most important part of the disguise. “Here.”

“…No.” Azula took the scarlet theater mask with a sneer of disgust, holding it between her forefinger and thumb like a piece of extremely dirty laundry.

“Do you want all the guards to see your face?”

“I could have brought a scarf or something.”

“It’s no worse than the Kyoshi Warrior makeup,” Zuko said defensively. “Please? It’s the, uh, the Dragon Empress, I thought it was appropriate… I mean, she’s almost as badass as you are. So it fits.” He cringed when Azula leveled a truly impressive death glare at him.

“Are you trying to flatter me? I’m so proud.”

“Just wear the mask.”

“This is ridiculous,” Azula said. But she put the mask on. Zuko idly wondered if their relationship would be better in a world where Azula actually appreciated theater, and hid his headache under the latest copy of the Blue Spirit mask.

And then they were off.

\--

“Hello?” Katara’s voice was hoarse from shouting, but it carried. The prison hall went still.

The murmuring was quiet when it started, a soft susurration of voices rippling back and forth, too many at once to catch more than a passing word or two. _–hear that—new—home—what if—_

She waited, and the echoes gradually ceased. Her eyes began to adjust to the total blackness of the prison at night. There were a few windows she hadn’t seen before, high above near the ceiling, covered in bars. In their pools of feeble starlight, on the far end of the open chamber, there were people silhouetted against the dark.

“Who’s there?” someone asked, in a voice that creaked, hardly louder than a whisper. She took a deep breath.

“I’m Katara.” The murmurs picked up her name and fluttered across the chamber. “Katara of the Southern Water Tribe.”

“The Southern—”

“Where did they find you?”

“How long has it been?” 

“They said we were—”

“Do you know Kanna—”

“Panuk—”

“Amka—”

“They told us there was no one _left_.”

Her breath seized in her throat as the words sank in, and suddenly she was sobbing again, crying tears she didn’t have the energy to cry.

“You’re… you’re all…” She couldn’t finish the sentence and the voices washed over her, their accents too familiar, soft lilting syllables that still remembered home.

“I’m sorry,” said one of them, from somewhere the light didn’t reach. “I’m so sorry, child.”

Katara’s first night in prison was full of voices in the dark, whispering stories under the hidden face of the new moon and singing songs that she had almost forgotten. One or two tired guards paced up and down the iron paths between the hanging cages, and when the others went silent Katara learned to follow their lead, but in the long hours between she could almost forget the place that surrounded her.

These were her _people_ , lost decades ago and finally found, and for once she wasn’t alone.

On that first night, she couldn’t bring herself to speak. She tried, and failed, the answers to their questions turning to ash in her throat. They spoke to her, instead, starting with small things.

“I was a teacher,” said one. She was the eldest of the elders, and the others went silent together whenever she spoke. “I trained our bending warriors in the mornings, and my mother taught the healers in the night.”

“I was apprenticed to the shaman,” said another. “They took me the summer of my fifteenth birthday, two days before the summer solstice rituals.” Katara didn’t know the rituals, so he told her, his voice falling into the lilting rhythm of stories a thousand years old.

“I was the leader of a whole squadron of warriors,” said an especially raspy voice. “We brought down three ships in the battle when I fell.”

“I was fleeing. My sister and I took a ship in the night when we heard another raid was coming, and we ran, and we never looked back. They found us anyway.”

They took turns, weaving the tales of their lives in a Southern Water Tribe that Katara had only ever known in Gran-Gran’s stories. They spoke of the rites to Tui and La that had been lost with the Water temples, and told stories of spirits that roamed the frozen tundra, and sang songs that were new in her ears but familiar in her blood. She learned their names: Aaju the teacher, Nuniq the shaman, Imona the warrior, Aklaq the runaway, and she held them all close like a shield. Their voices lulled her to sleep the way her mother’s had, before her childhood died in fire.

She slept through the day, waking only when the guards dressed her in chains to eat and drink, and rose with the moon.

On the second night, she spoke of the Tribe she’d known: it was small and fragile and hidden, but for a time, it had been safe. She spoke of the elders who had raised her and the waterbenders wept for the names she knew and the names she didn’t recognize. She spoke of the children she’d helped to raise, and the way the village had never given up, and never stopped missing those they’d lost.

On the third night, she found the strength to speak of her journey across the world, despite the ache in her chest that burned at every happy memory. It had been three days. They had to be out there somewhere. They’d come for her, somehow. She spoke of Sokka and remembered the way he always fought to protect her, always, in fear of this very fate. She hoped he wouldn’t blame himself for leaving her. She spoke of Aang and the hope that shone inside of him, despite the pain and loss he tried to hide deep inside his center after losing his entire world. She’d thought she understood that feeling, growing up as the last Southern waterbender to live free in the world.

She hadn’t. She started to understand it now, after meeting the elders: the vast expanse of all the things she’d lost that she never even knew she could have had.

When she spoke of the North Pole, that knowledge froze into icy rage. The North had never suffered the way she had. She couldn’t stomach the words anymore, until Aaju stood, barely visible under the whalebone needle of waxing moon.

“So you learned the Northern style? Let me show you what we would have taught,” she said. Katara listened.

The elder moved, the way glaciers moved towards the sea, and Katara moved with her. There was no water here, but she knew Yue watched over her, and the memory of moonsilver in her bones was enough.

She learned.

It became a rhythm: she slept in the day, and spoke in the night, and when the pain of remembering ended her stories the elders began to teach.

On the fifth night, it changed. There was a deep, slow chuckle, as Katara told the story of Aang’s recovery after Ba Sing Se, and the elders drew silent. It wasn’t the silence of a passing guard, or the silence of sleep, or the silence of a low tide in conversation.

Katara turned and stared into the shadows behind her. Her cell was near the side of the central chamber furthest from the entrance, but there were other doors set into the walls here that she rarely saw opened.

She’d assumed they were for storage, or guards’ barracks, or the kitchens. Something inconsequential and probably irrelevant.

“I thought it might be you,” said a voice like cold fingers down her spine. “I hoped it wasn’t.”

“ _Hama_ ,” Katara breathed.

“When did they come for you? Was it that very night, after you _turned_ on me?”

“I—” Hama laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

“Leave the girl alone,” snarled Imona the warrior.

“You had the power to save yourself,” Hama snarled. “The power to _ruin_ them. What did you do with it? Did you do anything?”

\--

It was easy to steal the airship’s lifeboat. It would have been easier if Azula would actually stick to the shadows, or step lightly enough that the guards at the shipyard didn’t hear her coming. Her luck was what saved them—the night patrol managed to miss her scarlet mask, and their dark stealth attire did the rest of the work. Like most things, Zuko would deal with it later.

\--

The old bloodbender’s voice came from a tiny barred slat set in a heavy steel door, so quiet, but it cut her to the bone.

“Do you know what they did to me after you left?” Hama asked. Katara took a shaky breath, the air striking her sinuses like a knife. “They didn’t call the Home Guard for days. Not until they’d all had a turn with me, in a darkened room, with metal in their hands. Those _innocent civilians_ of yours had quite the way with knives and fists. Quite an eagerness to use them. Not that you would care,” she spat. “I believed you were our _future._ ”

“I—no,” Katara said. “No.”

“Some of the burns are still healing.”

“That’s not what I—” But she couldn’t force the words out. She couldn’t, she hadn’t, she didn’t, this wasn’t what she _wanted_ but—but Sokka told her about the cave. And what they’d found there, and it was wrong. It had to be wrong.

“Here in the official prisons, they’ve worked their watering system down to a science,” Hama said. “They know exactly how long they can let us suffer and keep us alive. They want us well enough to live long, helpless lives. Those little villages, though, they don’t have that science. They’d leave me alone for _days._ ”

“No,” Katara gasped. The other elders were speaking, she knew they were, the words didn’t matter. None of it mattered. “I—that’s not—”

“Days, and when they returned, they tied me like a pig at market and laughed as I licked water from the floor.”

She couldn’t breathe.

“You could have saved us.”

Hama went quiet for a while, after that, as Katara curled against the iron floor and closed her eyes to everything.

“The moon is waxing.” On the sixth night, Hama didn’t laugh. Katara’s stomach churned. “Do you feel it? Tui’s power, always with us. Her greatest gift.”

Katara didn’t speak.

“You are strong, Katara,” Hama said. “I needed the full moon, to do what had to be done. You, however…”

She wouldn’t think about it. She couldn’t. It wasn't possible, she knew it wasn't.

“They don’t know what you can do. They’ve heard the stories about my gift,” Hama said. “They’ve taken… precautions. But you, Katara…” The elders were quiet. They always were, when Hama spoke.

“You could have saved the others,” Katara said. She barely heard herself. “When you escaped, why didn’t you?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I don’t. You weren’t _alone_ , I thought—I thought when I met you that you were the last remnant of us. I thought you were the only one.”

“I did what I must to survive. We never would have made it out together.”

“Did you even try?”

“Katara, you don’t understand—”

“No! I don’t!” She rose to her feet. Her head spun, the dehydration taking its toll, but she swallowed it down. It didn’t matter. “You escaped, you _did what you must_ , but you could have saved so many people! Taken the key, opened every cage, and gone home. But instead you abandoned—” and it _burned_ , to choke these words out, but she had to, “—you abandoned our people who _needed_ you to spend decades torturing random strangers in the countryside when you could have gone _home_! Why?! How could you _possibly_ justify it?!”

Hama didn’t laugh, but it felt like she might, in the silence that followed.

“You poor, naïve child. Mind how you speak to your elders,” she said.

“You abandoned our _people._ ” Katara’s hands shook. “The others will come for me, if I can’t find a way out myself, and you can face the tribe’s council for what you did when we get home.”

“And if they don’t come for you?” Hama asked. “How long will you wait, knowing you have the power to break free? All you need to do is use it.”

“It won’t matter,” Katara said. “They will, or else I’ll bring down the walls of this prison and take all of you with me to hunt them down myself.”

“I wonder if you could even free us now,” said Hama. “If you could move the blood within our veins, as I can feel it. If you could do to that guard out there what you know he deserves.”

Her bending knew there was potential, or would be, when the moon grew fuller. She felt the water of the man’s blood in his limbs where he slept against the wall, peacefully oblivious. She could almost feel Hama’s and the elders.

She didn't even need to manipulate him, never mind if it was possible. If she wanted to, she could tear the water out of his body by itself and leave nothing but a dried-out husk, the way Hama drained the trees in the clearing that haunted her nightmares.

She did nothing, and stayed silent. There were no more stories that night.

Just after the apex of darkness, there was a click.

The guard didn’t notice at first—he’d been sound asleep since his midnight rounds, because as far as he knew, nothing ever happened here. The sound jolted Katara to full attention, and she strained her eyes against the darkness to find its cause.

A slim figure melted out of the shadows and jammed a hand into the guard’s pockets. Well, he was awake _now._

“Hey!” the man yelped. The figure darted back, pulling a dagger and lashing out wildly when the guard made a grab for them. He flinched back and jammed his alert whistle into his mouth.

A second black-swathed figure dropped from the ceiling and slammed him to the ground, flinging the whistle firmly out of his lips and over the side of the platform.

“I _had_ it!” hissed the first.

“Shhh!”

The guard jumped to his feet with fire on his hands, hurling a blazing column of flame at the strangers as soon as he was upright. The first stranger lunged into what almost looked like a bending form, and the second one shoved them out of the way, slashing the fire aside with a pair of viciously curved swords.

“I—”

“Shhh!!” the second figure snapped. “ _Keys_!”

The guard struck out with a fiery kick, and sword guy darted nimbly aside, then grabbed the guard’s ankle and pulled. The guard clattered to the ground with a squawk. The knife-wielder dove in, snatching for his pocket again, and seized the ring of keys inside, but the guard did— _something_ —that made the invader yelp in pain and leap away, clutching one shoulder.

Sword guy flinched, clearly shocked. The guard spun into another kick that caught the knife-wielder’s wrist in the moment their guard dropped, and the keyring went tumbling away after the whistle. The knife-wielder growled audibly and whirled on the guard with a second knife in the hand that previously held keys.

Sword guy moved before they had a chance to act, slamming the hilt of one blade into the guard’s temple and flooring him instantly.

The newcomers wore masks. Red for the first, smaller one, with the vicious glare and horns of a dragon. Blue for the second, and a horrid grin. She’d almost mistake them for menacing spirits, if they weren’t busy enough arguing with each other to completely ruin the effect.

Red Mask elbowed Blue in the ribs as soon as the guard was down. Blue Mask facepalmed and pulled a coil of rope from some hidden pocket, then tied the guard to the railing. Together, they searched the guard’s remaining pockets, but came up with nothing.

The masks locked eyes, and Red strode towards Katara’s end of the room, while Blue moved away.

Could they be… but no, these weren’t her friends. Sokka might have come up with the mask idea, maybe, but the shorter figure was a mystery. Toph wouldn’t have let someone bother with rope in a mostly-steel building, and Aang didn’t move like that, purposeful as a stalking predator.

They had to be allies, though. She held her breath.

Red stopped in front of Katara’s cage and tilted their head, one hand toying with the knife they’d pulled against the guard.

“Are you here to help?” she asked quietly. There were still other guards sleeping in the barracks somewhere, and their stories had gone unbothered for nearly a week, but she was newly nervous at the potential of escape.

The red mask shrugged, still playing with the knife. Katara narrowed her eyes. The stranger sheathed the weapon, almost lazily… and hesitated.

On the far side of the room, Blue turned around to head in their direction. Red looked back at them and huffed. Blue pointed at Katara’s cage, held their hands out at Red pleadingly, pointed at the cage again. In their focus, neither of them noticed more night guards approaching, their attention drawn by the earlier fight.

“Um,” Katara said.

Red sighed, and pulled a few thin pieces of metal from their pocket.

“Behind you!” she hissed.

Red jumped, but Blue was closer. Unfortunately for them, these guards were prepared for trouble. They backed Blue into a corner full of whirling blades and crashing metal. Red charged.

“Don’t!” Blue snarled. Katara swore she knew that voice, but it wasn’t important, if she just had _water…_

Red slid the wires into the lock on Katara’s cell and began to jostle them around, muttering under their breath and shooting glances at the fight. Blue was holding their own, jumping around on swinging cages and dodging fire blasts with uncanny grace. They tripped a guard over the railing with a heavy thud. Red continued to wiggle wires around, apparently at random, snarling.

“Hold it steadier!” Blue hissed in their ear, swinging by with their swords tangled in a guard’s heavy mace.

“Shut up!” Red snapped. The lock wasn’t going anywhere. Blue backed a guard against the other side of Katara’s cage and she reached out, grabbing him by the collar and holding while Blue disarmed him. Blue nodded in brief thanks and snarled the guy’s ankle in one of the shackles welded to Katara’s cage, then gagged him with his own headband and shoved him into the void. If Katara enjoyed watching that a little too much, well, that was her own business.

Blue was left with one guard now. Red was still struggling with the lock and muttering, and there was something familiar about that voice, too. Katara watched, but all she could do right now was wait.

And then Blue took out the last guard with a well-timed kick, and the prison was silent except for Red’s increasingly incensed muttering.

“…your crops wither, family cursed till the third generation, never rise from the ashes of your destruction—”

“Shh!” Blue cut in _again_. They held out a hand for the lockpicks, which Red did not hand over, instead choosing to stomp down on their foot with enough force to make Blue yelp.

“Back _off_.”

“Hold the wider one steady, it’s just a padlock—”

“I _know_ what I’m _doing_. _You_ were supposed to lower the cage—”

“You were! What did you think that gesture was!”

“You could do it _now_ —”

“Not while you’re picking the lock!”

“Stop it,” Katara snapped. “If you’re here to help me, _do_ something.”

“Oh, just—” Blue snatched the lockpicks out of Red’s hands and made short work of the padlock. The cage door swung open. Katara could’ve sworn Red was raising the temperature of the room out of anger alone. “Fuck it, she’s heard plenty of our voices—need a hand?”

It took Katara a moment to realize he was speaking to her. There was a gap a foot or two wide between the cage and the platform, and she’d have to fall a couple feet further before landing, but it wasn’t too bad. This place hadn’t stolen her strength yet.

She answered Blue by jumping, only stumbling a little when her feet hit the iron grate.

Walking was… harder than anticipated. Her head ached, the dehydration that had plagued her since her capture rearing its ugly head the moment she did anything more physically demanding than talk. Her left ankle throbbed, the worst of dozens of deep bruises whose origins she barely remembered. She hoped she’d given as bad as she got.

Her two mystery benefactors headed directly for the exit.

“Wait,” she said. They paused to look at each other. “We have to get the others.”

Red recoiled instantly, their hands balling into fists. Blue reached a hand towards them, an obvious placating gesture, and Red slapped them.

“No,” Red hissed. “We are not wasting time on—”

“Shh!” Blue held out a hand towards Katara, motioning her to stop, and pulled Red aside on an alley between two empty cages. She could hear them both whispering angrily, but couldn’t make out any of the words. They gestured to her to keep moving, and headed back towards the exit.

“I’m not leaving without them,” Katara said, and refused to move. “I won’t abandon my people. I _won’t._ ”

Red looked like they wanted to commit a murder. Blue facepalmed, leaning towards the exit _again_ , but Katara stayed right where she was. One of those guards Blue knocked out probably had keys, even if neither of the intruders seemed to have realized. She stalked towards the nearest one and began to check his pockets.

Finally, Blue groaned, and began to help. Red joined them after yet another very deliberate stare and tilt of the mask. As they opened the cages, Katara saw the elders’ faces fully for the first time, but it felt like she’d known them forever.

After they were freed, she went to Hama. The old bloodbender said nothing as Katara opened the door and guided Blue to unlock the chains on her wrists and ankles. But she took Katara’s offered hand as she stood, even as she refused to meet her eyes, and that was enough.

\--

Azula was ready to commit five murders right here and now and if Zuko wouldn’t have _immediately_ jumped ship on the plan the moment she tried, she would have done it. It was bad enough that he had to nitpick her every move, bad enough that he thought he had to _teach_ her, bad enough that this ridiculous scheme was necessary in the first place, but adding five random-ass _hostile waterbenders_ to the escape just for the _hell_ of it?! Oh, she would _delight_ in burning those imbeciles to the bone, just give her the slightest excuse to try it.

She _supposed_ they’d make good leverage, to keep the Avatar’s waterbender in line, but they’d make just as good leverage if not better if they _stayed right exactly where they were_ and then they wouldn’t have to find hiding places for _five extra random-ass hostile waterbenders._ Zuko’d pay for agreeing to this.

But he’d been right about one thing in their rushed quiet argument, and it was that they wouldn’t get the Avatar’s waterbender to cooperate if they didn’t play along. Azula could threaten her, of course, and it would be an excellent threat, but if the waterbender discovered her identity too early then she’d run for it or fight. Azula would win that fight, naturally, but at night under a waxing moon it would simply be too much of a pain in the ass. And then she’d have to _hurt_ the waterbender, who then wouldn’t help with the rest of the plan.

It didn’t make the phrase ‘Zuko was right’ any less grating.

So here they were, ushering a bunch of geriatric foreign nationals out of a perfectly safe high-security prison into the woods. Zuko and the waterbender did most of the ushering in silence, while Azula covered the group’s trail until they reached the clearing where they’d parked their balloon.

Zuko was passing the waterbenders his waterskin— _idiot_ —when Azula seized him by the arm, heating her fingers enough to sting, and yanked him aside into the brush.

“What the hell are you doing!”

“They’re dehydrated and in pain,” he said. “The weaker they are, the harder it’ll be to hide them, and if one gets caught they could give us away.”

“We wouldn’t have to hide them if they were in prison where they _belong_ ,” Azula snarled. “And now look. Your sentimental attitude is going to get us caught.” 

“You’re that worried about a couple of old people? Listen, you know we had to release them, or Katara would have—”

“Or Katara would have what?”

“Well, _now_ look what you’ve done,” Azula hissed. The waterbender stood right there, glaring at them both with her arms crossed. Underneath his mask, Azula was sure Zuko was cringing.

He recovered faster than she’d expected, though, going silent and bowing carefully with the flame towards their newest guest. Azula also stayed quiet, mostly because she really wanted to hear how Zuzu would fumble his way out of this one.

“Who are you, anyway?” the waterbender snapped. Her voice was hoarse. “I mean—thank you for rescuing us,” she corrected. “I have a lot of questions, though. Like how you know my name, and what you were waiting for.” Azula crossed her arms.

Zuko was resolutely tight-lipped, and all he did was bow again.

“It’s funny,” Katara said, “that you’re being quiet now, since I’m pretty sure I recognized your voice.”

“I am sorry,” Zuko replied, in the most heinous Ember Island Players-style spirit voice Azula had ever _heard._ She choked on a laugh, her eyes bulging under the mask. “We have not met. I am the Blue Spirit.” Real creative, Zuzu.

“Uh-huh,” Katara said. How did a Water Tribe _peasant_ have more sense than her own brother? “In that case, thank you for your help, Blue Spirit, but we can take care of ourselves from here. We’ll be leaving now.”

“You will _not_ ,” Azula snapped.

“It would be better if we escorted you to safety,” Zuko blustered in his stupid stage voice. Katara narrowed her eyes, darted forward, and yanked his mask off.

\--

This wasn’t how Zuko expected the plan to go. But when was it _ever_?

“ _You_ ,” Katara snarled.

“Please don’t,” he started to say, but her arms swirled in a wide arc and well. There were the icicles he’d anticipated, where had that water even _come_ from? He gulped, a deadly sharp point sitting way too close to his throat for comfort.

“How _dare_ you!” Azula snapped.

“Don’t!” Zuko yelped at her. “I’ve got it!” He sucked in a deep breath and melted his way through the worst of the ice.

“How _dare_ you show your face to me!” Katara said. “After everything you’ve done, how _dare_ you—”

“No!” Zuko cut off, breaking out of the ice and grabbing Azula’s wrist before his sister could make this any worse than it already was. “Katara, please, we’re not here to fight—” he leaned in close and hissed in Azula’s ear, “if you ruin this we are _screwed_ —Katara, just hear me out!”

“No. Absolutely not. Whatever twisted plan you’ve thought up this time, I’m not falling for it. How stupid do you think I _am_?”

“If you just—”

“Let me guess,” Katara said. She stood at the center of a ring of dead grass and shriveled bushes, an arc of clear water floating at the ready, glaring with an intensity he’d usually only expect from his sister. “You didn’t get to fight us at the invasion, so now you’re here to set up an excuse to torment me _personally_ , as if you haven’t done it enough already.”

That was… disconcertingly close to the plan as he’d told it to Azula, and he couldn’t exactly correct her _here._

“No, no, we’re here to help,” he attempted anyway, keeping an eye on Azula. “We set your other waterbenders free, see? We’re on _your_ side.”

“I’m not buying it,” she snapped. “Did you think I’d forget Ba Sing Se? Did you think I’d forgive what you did? Give me one reason not to kill you right here and now.”

“You could try,” said Azula. “But we’ll kill you first. Painfully.”

Zuko slapped himself in the forehead.

“No! No, we’re not doing that. Just give me a chance—”

“I _gave_ you a chance,” Katara snarled. “Don’t you remember? And you took it and threw it in my face.”

“We can talk about that _later_ ,” he said. “We need to get out of here before dawn.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you—” Zuko stomped forward and grabbed her by the arm.

“ _Later._ ” He turned to Azula and locked eyes. “Go set up the balloon. Make sure the other waterbenders aren’t killing people or something. You’re the better leader, you know what to do. I can handle the peasant.”

“Get _off_ me!” Katara ripped her arm away and decked him and fucking _ow_ , that hurt.

“You don’t _touch_ him,” Azula growled.

“Just go!” He refused to flinch when she gave him the murder face, until she turned on her heel and stalked away.

While he was turned away, Katara punched him again, this time in the throat. It didn’t hurt any less the second time. He wheezed.

“Would you _please_ not do that?” he pleaded. “I know I probably deserve it—”

“ _Probably_?!”

“—but someone’s going to see the bruises, and ask where they came from, and I can’t exactly tell them _this._ ”

“I don’t care.” A wave of her arms and he was trapped again, icicles digging painfully into his sides. He grimaced, but didn’t fight it this time. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re out of chances. What do I care about what happens to _you_?”

“I’m trying to _help_ you,” he choked out. “Please. I—I know I made a lot of mistakes in the past, and I’m—Azula’s going to make it sound like I’m still making more of them, but I’m not, if you’d just let me explain—”

“Azula’s here too? Good,” Katara said. “After what you let her do to Aang, I have a few _words_ for that bitch.”

“Please don’t murder my sister.”

“Stop me,” she said. “Except, oh, wait.” A flick of her wrist and the ice tightened around him.

“Just hear me out…” He really should’ve planned for this, he _knew_ she’d be furious, this was the worst plan _ever_ … Katara narrowed her eyes.

“You have ten seconds. Think fast.”

“You lost the invasion,” he gasped out. Her eyes narrowed further. “Everyone’s—everyone got captured, not just you, I was going to leave and try and find you but then Aang found my father and lost—he beat him up a lot but you can’t just dodge lightning—but then he lost and so I couldn’t go and find you and everyone got arrested so I’m trying to find everyone in prison and do prison breaks to make it better except Azula’s in trouble because she lied so I have to bring her too so, um, so I lied to her back to get her to work with me and—”

“You,” Katara said, “are _really_ bad at explanations. _What did you do to Aang._ ”

“I didn’t do anything! He fought my father, I don’t know what happened, but I know he’s alive and locked up somewhere,” Zuko said. “But we can help him. If you work with me. Us.”

“Aang wouldn’t lose.”

“Except he did.”

“He _wouldn’t._ ”

“He did, though.” Katara glared at him, and he glared right back. “I’m not lying to you. I’m _bad_ at lying, you’d notice. And I really do want to help.”

“Bullshit.”

“I do,” he said, slumping. “Look. I… I fucked up, okay? I hurt you and your friends and I shouldn’t have done it and…and what I did in Ba Sing Se is one of the greatest regrets of my life. I don’t know how to make you believe that and you don’t have to like it or like me. You probably _shouldn’t_ like me. But I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry… if you can work with me, just for a little bit, I’ll help you save your friends. I have access to information, back in Caldera, I can find them and we can get them out. And then I can be out of your way forever. Or you can beat me up or whatever, if you really want to.” He swallowed. “Please. Let me help.”

She took her time, responding, and all he could do was wait. And take deep breaths, in, hold, out, in, hold, out, because if this went south then he was _fucked._

“…Fine,” Katara said. “But if you take one wrong step, if you so much as _think_ about threatening me or turning me back in to your father, then I won’t hesitate this time. You might be helpful, but I don’t _need_ you.” She waved a hand, and the ice melted.

“Um. One more thing,” he said. “My sister.”

“She’s the red mask, isn’t she? I _knew_ I recognized that voice too.”

“Yeah. She’s…” He swallowed. “She’s not like me. I mean. I mean, you’ve met her. She’s still loyal to Father, and she’s _Azula_ … Don’t kill me.”

“That’s not a good way to start a conversation.”

“She’s helping, for now. You have to be careful what you tell her. I told her that at the end of this, at the end of rescuing everyone, we’d recapture you all and make it into a big… thing. To get Father’s approval—” 

Aaaand the icicles were back, maybe he should’ve saved that one for later—

“—But!” he interrupted desperately, shielding his face. “I’m not going to do that! That’s just what I _told_ her, to get her to help me. She’s in trouble with Father, she told him the Avatar was dead and he’s not and he’s angry and… I couldn’t just let her deal with that alone. So she thinks I’m helping, and she’s helping me. So you can’t, um, you can’t make her think otherwise yet.”

“When I agreed to a truce, it was with _you._ ”

“I know. I know, but…” He took a deep breath. “Look, I was ready to ditch her at the eclipse to be Father’s perfect minion, but then everything kept _happening_ , and now I can’t. So she’s here. She’s crazy and awful most of the time, I know, but just… please. At least _pretend_ you don’t want to murder her?”

“I will as long as she does.” That wasn’t exactly helpful, given Azula’s general… state of being Azula… but it was probably the best Zuko was going to get.

“I don’t know what her excuse is, that she’s going to give you for why she’s helping, but just go with it for now. I… I think I might be able to convince her that helping you and the Avatar would be a good thing. Somehow. If things go right, we’ll win her over and she won’t try to start part two of the plan when we free the Avatar. If things go wrong… I’d rather not handle that with just the two of us.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“She’s going to kill me when she figures it out,” Zuko agreed. “But she won’t be the first person to try, and it won’t be her first time trying, and she’s never managed it before.” 

\--

Zuko was trying Azula’s patience _._ _Again._ She’d done as he asked, as if he had the power to command her. She gave the creaky old waterbenders drinks from the lifeboat’s emergency supplies, which they’d promptly demolished, and now she was stuck here twiddling her fucking _thumbs_ while her brother wasted time with the enemy. Ugh. Any longer and she’d have to go _check_ on him.

But she did owe him for keeping the guards back while she gracefully picked locks, so she’d give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was crafting them an alibi and not just getting his ass kicked by a peasant. Azula could have controlled the girl just fine, of course, but she couldn’t carry _all_ the weight around here. 

The fossilized waterbenders were staring at her now. She wasn’t sure what to make of the looks in their eyes.

When Zuko slunk back, the Avatar’s friend trailed after him. Poor little Zuzu had a black eye going, how pathetic. His clothes were soaking wet.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. He replaced his mask, after retrieving it from the cranky-looking peasant, and climbed onto the lifeboat. “We’re going to ride low with this many people, so we need to get moving fast if we want to avoid being caught. Once the sun rises, we’ll be easy to spot.” Azula herded the old people onboard, then settled down next to Zuko.

“I hope you know where to dump them.”

“Um,” he said, which was about what she’d expected.

They settled on a secluded part of the northern coast, where the fugitives could hide for the day, before moving somewhere safer tomorrow night. With the oncoming sunrise already pushing lighter shades of blue above the eastern horizon, they didn’t have time to find a _proper_ hiding spot. It would have to do.

The Avatar’s friend, after demanding that all the useless old people tag along, refused to actually _go_ with them.

“If you think I’m trusting you not to turn them in the minute we’re out of sight, you’re _insane_ ,” she snarled by way of explanation. “I’m staying where I can keep an eye on you.” So Zuko decided that the smart plan of action, for some reason, was to hide her in his luggage when they got back to the estate. Azula wasn’t touching that, if he got caught it was _all_ on him.

As the three of them prepared to leave the old benders behind, one of them caught Azula’s wrist in a bony hand.

“Thank you,” the old woman said. “Thank you, all of you.” She was crying, and it was disgusting, and then she had the nerve to actually _wrap her arms_ around Azula. And then once that happened she wouldn’t let _go_ , and then _all_ of them were doing it, and doing it to Zuko _too…_

“Why are you _touching_ me!” Azula squawked indignantly, squirming. These weirdos had _strong grips_ for a bunch of ancient prisoners. She couldn’t wriggle free until they _let_ her, and they ought to be on their knees thanking her for not setting them on fire the way they so _obviously_ deserved.

“You’ve saved us,” said another one of the old people, gazing at her and then at Zuko. “May all the Spirits of all the lands watch over you and bless you for this kindness.”

When they finally let go of her, she stalked back onto the lifeboat as quickly as she could, feeling somewhat sick for no discernable reason. Zuko gave her another weird look that she could feel even through his stupid spirit mask. She set the mask on fire.

The fact that this action led to Zuko and the waterbender angrily half-wrestling for the rest of the ride back over whether or not to retaliate was an entertaining bonus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katara is amazing and I love her, and I refuse to believe that being rescued from prison by Zuko would prevent her from unleashing her righteous fury on him anyway. They'll make up... eventually. I wanted to rescue her first just because I am endlessly entertained by the "give me one reason to kill you" "it's ok i deserve it :(" dynamic between her and Zuko post-Black Sun. It's going to be a lot of fun setting her loose on the fire siblings once they're not all in immediate peril. 
> 
> A thing that's always mildly bugged me: during Hama's flashbacks, we see other waterbenders in that prison with her. She walks right by them on her way out the door. She has a lot of reasons why she might not stop to help, and some of those reasons are very valid for her self-preservation, but still... she just left them behind. In a darker reading of the story, you could assume that they were all executed or something after Hama escaped, but I like happier theories and I refuse to believe that Katara and Hama are the ONLY Southern waterbenders still alive at the end of the war. It's just depressing. What happened to the others, show? Where did they go? What did you do? Anyway I headcanon that there are a few left alive still, because I think Katara has suffered enough, and she deserves to reunite with her elders and rebuild her culture and all that good stuff. Let no one say I'm not kind to fictional characters, occasionally. 
> 
> I wanted to give the waterbenders names because so much of the point of their scenes is to give Katara this link back to her culture and her origins, so I feel like it would be Wrong to leave them nameless, but it's REALLY REALLY HARD to find accurate Indigenous names. Like, at least with Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation characters, I can name them after kpop stars or whatever and be assured that I'm choosing a real name that could belong to a human being. Google wanted to help me name a sled dog. So I don't have any idea if the names I chose are real names, or if they make any sense, but I do want it established that I tried. 
> 
> Next chapter: I'm not telling you which rescue is next in line, but I will tell you that it will involve a lot more of Zuko getting yelled at. Depending on how the writing process goes, I might have to split the next one too just to clean up loose ends that didn't fit with the flow. Katara talks WAY more than I expected her to and she might cause some delays too. The next escape is one of the plot-bunnies that inspired this whole fic, though, so I can't wait to get there! 
> 
> Also, sorry for my insanely long end notes. Let me know if there are any grievous grammar fuckups in here, I barely edited this chapter because it's too long and I'm dying. Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> Edit: I've fixed a few sentences for clarity, and messed around with Katara's weird bloodbending monologue. Thanks to the commenter who remarked on that, because I realized that I implied some things I am NOT planning on ever acting on, & so I'm clearing it up before it becomes a plot hole. I sort of changed trajectories halfway through writing this... anyway, I'm not giving Katara unrestricted bloodbending, Hama's just implying it to fuck with Katara's head and Katara is tired and traumatized and gullible to that specific manipulation. Even if she could, and honestly she probably could, it wouldn't serve the narrative? I absolutely do think she could kill a guy by ripping all their blood/water out, though. It would require much less finesse than "proper" body-control bloodbending, at the cost of being heinously gruesome. Bloodbending is restricted for spirit reasons in my headcanon (gotta get the full face of the Moon Spirit) more than physical skill/power reasons. This will probably never come up again because Katara is not a serial killer, and if she was, stabbing people with icicles is still easier and much less messy.


	4. —STATUS UPDATE—

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Placeholder status update, sorry! TLDR; The fic itself will resume updates for real (hopefully) in mid-November, but for now, a status update from the author :)

Aight, so. This fic. 

First of all, I’m SO SORRY for my extended absence! When I posted Chapter 3 I expected to have 4 out in maybe a week’s time, and I was working on it at that pace... and then real life popped off at the speed of a locomotive, as it is wont to do.

That out of the way, about the general status of this fic! **_THE RED SPIRIT IS NOT ABANDONED._ **Repeat: this story is NOT abandoned. I have every intention of finishing this fic and posting it through to the end. That said, it’s gonna take me longer than I expected. I’m a second year Masters student working on finishing my degree and all the nonsense that comes with doing that as a music major in COVID times, and I also had a bit of a Major Existential Crisis(tm) in August that slaughtered my productivity. Basically, had painful realization that my intended career field has been somewhat annihilated by the quarantine and lack of government support for the arts, and even if it hadn’t been I suck at the entrepreneurship required to be independently successful as a performer without a day job, so I need to have a plan B to support myself while I do my auditions and make my weird noise music and also I was just in a god-awful emotional state at the time that made everything worse. I wound up disappearing from my creative works in all genres for a while to have a mental breakdown, and also I’m considering applying to law school because apparently getting consistent 160+ scores on the Fake LSAT while in an emotional crisis means I’d be pretty good at the real thing (and law pays a hell of a lot more than being an independently gigging opera singer). If I can make that work, then I can get a day job that isn’t freakin’ retail that would keep me afloat, and do music in the gaps. I still have NO idea what I’d actually end up doing, but this could a way to continue my passion and purpose in life while also supporting myself with my other strengths. So now I’m studying for the Real LSAT, which is another big time sink, on top of the ongoing MM degree.... if you gave enough shits to finish reading this whole paragraph, may whatever God you do or don’t believe in bless you. I am a hot mess and my miraculous ability to get good grades anyway is my sole redeeming trait.

I’m hoping to use The Red Spirit as a sort-of-Nanowrimo project this year, though I’ll be starting late because LSAT reasons (don’t want to divert attention until after the test). (And also I doubt it’s going to break 50k... at least I don’t intend it to... please god let me actually write something short for once...) With any luck you’ll hear from me sometime during the second week of November? It’ll be good for me as a creative to actually finish something for once, and I also feel like you guys deserve to see the end of this story! This fic got WAY more traction than I ever expected, and I still go back to look at everyone’s nice comments when I’m having a shitty day. I have an outline and everything, I know where I’m going with this, I really think I can see it through. I really, REALLY want to.

Right now I am a couple scenes deep into Chapter 4, which is around where I left off when I started freaking out in August. The chapter estimate might jump up a few more times because I’m a chronic overwriter and I’m not really editing this as I go, but we’ll see. I’m also considering breaking this story into 2 fics—one focused on the ridiculous escape shenanigans, and the next focused on the character junk that happens afterwards once the team is all together. That way I’d have an easier time finishing at least one complete fic. But I feel like that would interrupt the flow of character development, which is not ideal... ehh, I’ll cross that bridge when and if I actually get to it. 

So, yeah. That’s where I’m at with this. I will take down this ramble and replace it with the real Chapter 4 once that’s done, so it won’t interrupt a new reader or anything! Depending on how things pan out (ie, whether or not the planned chapter 4 happens in under 10k), that might be concurrent with releasing a Chapter 5. If it turns out that I do give up on this fic, I’ll update again with whatever pieces I have written, an explanation of what’s up, and a summary of the remaining story outline for the sake of conclusion. I don’t intend for that to happen, though, I’m still super excited to share this story. 

Thanks for sticking around, and I’ll see you in November! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This chapter was kind of more of a prologue than anything, to establish the AU and the character dynamic I'm working with and all that fun stuff. Next time, we get started on the /real/ action.... that is, if Zuko and Azula can agree on their plan. I haven't written fanfic since like 2014, so I'm still finding my footing in terms of pacing my productivity, but I do have a decent chunk of chapter 2 written already. So hopefully I'll see you soon?


End file.
